Everything is a Story
I helped my quarantine pal move out of her apartment today. She’s leaving San Francisco and it was tough yada yada shut up. But as we're packing up her place, I start to make fun of her a bit. “Everything is a story, huh,” I said, pointing to a pencil that says ‘Huh’ on it. “What's the story behind this?” I point to a painting of a cat. “Or this?” I say, holding the last written note that her best friend would send her.
It’s strange to see so much love bundled up in boxes—in my apartment I have Cool Dark Kettle #3 from cool-dark-kettles dot com. There's no romance in the things I own and I guess I've had close friends for such a short period of time that I simply don’t have lovely-friend-things yet.
But my pal Ali has a warm, bubbling life of friendship both behind and ahead of her, and this empty apartment was a record of that, an archive of friendship and giggles and a reminder that I should hold onto her and never let go.